


through the fire and the flames we carry on

by rainbowshoes



Series: WinterIron Bingo 2019 [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Knives, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, POV Bucky Barnes, Possibly Unrequited Love, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, author did not tag appropriately
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-11-27 22:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes
Summary: written for the winteriron bingo 2019G4: Breaking and EnteringG1: DomesticO4: "Love pure and chaste from afar" (ie: pining)and another surprise square at the end!Free from HYDRA, Bucky begins recovering memories he never thought he'd get back. It leads to discoveries not only about himself but about the sort of person he is now - and he isn't entirely sure he likes that person, not yet. When something happens that threatens everyone's safety, Bucky thinks the best decision he can make is to leave... [Insert click-baity attention-grabbing line here]





	1. Breaking and Entering

**Author's Note:**

> title from "["Through the Fire and Flames" by Dragonforce](https://youtu.be/WHJapDojlaE/)  
> because that song honestly got me through most of this fic and it deserves the recognition for that  
> the "chose not to warn" box is clicked FOR A REASON  
> this is READ AT YOUR OWN RISK  
> i am NOT TAGGING certain things because it would seriously spoil half my fucking plot and i also don't feel comfortable tagging other things  
> this is also locked to members-only, no anon comments, and comments are modded - and i'm not sorry for that

There had been something off when he stepped off the stairs and into the narrow hall that led to his apartment. He hadn’t immediately been sure what exactly it was, but he’d tensed, unconsciously, and he’d had that gut feeling - instinct driving him when he couldn’t be certain of anything else. He never questioned it, even if he wasn’t certain what triggered the response more than half the time. Of those times when he wasn’t sure what was happening, many times he was certain it wasn’t really anything at all. This time, he didn’t get that feeling. 

He still put his key in the door. It was a terrible lock, inefficient and easy to pick. He didn’t have much worth stealing, though, so he didn’t exactly care. His biggest concern had been playing keepaway from the dregs of HYDRA, but it didn’t seem as if anyone in particular had been looking for him - he guessed most of them assumed he’d died in the Potomac after the helicarriers had gone down. He pushed the door open, and the he smelled it. Cologne. Two different kinds - one lighter and more subtle and barely more than a whiff, one heavier, muskier, a little spicy. 

Someone was in his apartment. He tensed and dropped his hand to the .44 magnum he keeps hidden under his long hoodie and leather jacket. It was the only gun he had left - he had been forced to either ditch or sell the rest. He slipped it out of the holster, the bag of plums and fresh bread in his metal hand. He could drop the bag and use the hand to deflect shots if necessary. He’d done it enough times, after all. 

He didn’t burst into the room. He didn’t slam the door into the wall and go in with his gun up and ready to fire. He kept it more or less hidden behind his thigh. He was confident in his ability to move faster than whoever was on the other side of his door, first, and second, he knew he could survive more than a few gunshot wounds if it came to that. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and he’d have to leave immediately because of the attention the noise would draw, but he could do it. He had his contingency plans. He had a second location, another safehouse (if an abandoned cabin in the woods that was half-rotted counted as a safehouse). 

Feigning innocence, calm normalcy, was difficult. He didn’t do it easily. But he’d done it before. He’d done it… for a long time, he thought. He didn’t quite remember when. That didn’t matter. He used his shoulder to nudge the door open, just a few inches, as he pulled his key out, his boot wedged between the door and the jamb. He kept the gun down behind his thigh, kept the bag in his hand where it was clearly visible and could easily be used as a suitable distraction. 

There were two men. No uniforms. One was standing in his kitchen, looking through one of his journals. The other was sitting on his couch eating an orange. Bucky stilled when he walked inside, his hat still pulled low over his eyes. He looked between the both of them rapidly. He recognized the one on the couch immediately. Tony Stark. His face and name were plastered everywhere and on damn near everything across the world. Bucky could hardly go a day without seeing him. And the other was Steve. He thought. His memories were still fuzzy, and they weren’t coming back linearly. 

“Buck,” Steve said quietly. He put the journal down on top of the shelf - not where he’d found it, and it irked Bucky that, not only was the man going through his things, but he couldn’t even put them back where he’d found them - and turned to face Bucky more completely. “Do - do you ah, know who I am?”

“You’re Steve,” Bucky said with a tight nod. 

Steve looked… not quite relieved, but something like that. Bucky wasn’t so great with emotions. He didn’t know their names or what they were meant to feel like - didn’t know how to recognize them on other people, not always. 

“Do you remember me?” Steve asked, and that - that was too close to something Bucky wasn’t familiar with. 

“No,” Bucky said. He was only being honest. He couldn’t help the way it made Steve’s face pinch. He didn’t know why that made his gut squirm with what he was quickly figuring out was  _ guilt _ . 

“That’s okay, buckaroo,” Tony Stark said from where he was still half-sprawled across Bucky’s mis-matched, lumpy couch. It was comfortable enough for Bucky to sit on when he was having panic attacks or when he couldn’t sleep. When the demons in his head screamed so loud he didn’t trust himself to close his eyes because he thought, surely, he’d wake up and he’d back to half-frozen, being dragged from the cryo chamber only to have them force him into the chair. It was better than the floor. Better than the mattress he didn’t trust. He didn’t deserve comfort, but he allowed himself to indulge in the couch. 

“Why are you here?” Bucky asked. He shut the door behind himself, sealing their conversation away from prying ears - mostly. Not fully, never fully. The walls were thin. There weren’t many in this neighborhood who spoke English well, but there were enough who could follow the conversation.

Tony Stark bit into his orange with a smile. Steve was the one to answer, though, and Bucky found himself reluctant to turn his attention away from Tony Stark and over to Steve. “We came to ask you if you’d come with us. We can - we can help you, Buck.”

“Last person told me that fried my brain,” Bucky said flatly. That made Steve flinch, a full-body thing that was ridiculous and over exaggerated. It wasn’t like it had happened to  _ him _ .

Tony Stark stood and tossed the orange peel he’d been collecting into Bucky’s rubbish bin, then offered him the last two slices of the orange, holding them out. Bucky shook his head. Tony shrugged and left them on a tea towel on the counter. “No brain frying, ice pop. No human-shaped freezers, either. We don’t do that. Cap here wants you to come in from the cold, so to speak. You may not remember him, but he’s your buddy. Was. Whatever.” Tony shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Bucky could see straight through the feigned nonchalance. He wondered why  _ he _ mattered to someone like Tony Stark. 

“What if I don’t want to come with you?” Bucky asked, suspicious of their answer.

Tony spoke over whatever Steve was about to say. “Then we’ll leave. We’ll go on our way, and you can stay right where you are doing… whatever it is you do. But I’ll leave a phone and some contact information, just in case you decide you want to chat with Steve later, or in case you run into any trouble and you need some help dealing with it.” It seemed so easy for him to make the offer, but Bucky could see the tension lined in his shoulders, in his posture.

Tony shrugged and looked at him just a little harder. "Look, what are you afraid of? If you go with us, what do you think will happen?"   


"I'll hurt someone." It wasn’t hard to admit; it was the truth. Bucky still shifted on his feet. He glanced over at Steve and found another pained expression. He couldn’t look at that for long, so he quickly turned his attention back to Tony.   


“Yeah, right, because Captain Righteous over here would totally let you. Let's not forget about our resident Black Widow. Who we know you trained, by the way. Then there's Clint, who could shoot you down in a split second if he had to. And Bruce, who turns into a giant green rage monster. Also Thor, a literal god of thunder with a magic hammer. Plus, well. Me. I’m iron man. You think I don't know I was on HYDRA's 'do not fuck with' list? My AI controls the entire building we live in. He can gas us all unconscious in two seconds flat. I’ve also been told I’m pretty tough to kill. So, tell me what else is bugging you, because you hurting someone? That's a shit reason. You haven't hurt anyone since your fight with steve on the helicarriers in DC."

Bucky was speechless for a moment. That was a lot of information to absorb all at once, and he wasn’t used to conversations more in depth than trying to purchase a little bit of food or a newspaper. People didn’t speak to him. They knew something wasn’t quite right about him. It was safer that way, and so he didn’t mind. He liked the quiet, the peace. 

And yet, Tony was telling him that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone if he went with them. Even if he tried, he’d be stopped before he could succeed - truly succeed, anyway. He remembered the little Widows, somewhat. He had nightmares about them a lot. Tiny little girls, so very fragile and yet deadly and cold. He’d turned them into weapons, and others had given them even more skills - skills he couldn’t have taught them, like how to use their entire bodies as weapons. How to lie, to deceive, to cheat, to hide. He knew a Widow couldn’t truly stop him, but one of them would have a good chance at slowing him down at the very least.   


“Why would you want me there, anyway? I’m - I’m not a good person." Bucky didn’t think he’d said so much in years. It wasn’t hard to admit that he wasn’t a good person, but he almost wanted to keep it to himself in the face of someone as good as Tony Stark. The man who gave the world clean energy and saved the world.   


Tony only shrugged. "None of us are. Not really. We've all got blood on our hands. Face facts, winter wonderland, you’re in amongst killers and liars. My body count is higher than yours." He smirked, deadly and sharp, but Bucky saw it for the brittle mask that it was. He noticed Steve hadn’t said much. Steve was only watching.

"You didn't answer my question."

"What can I say? You’re easy on the eyes." Tony laughed, carefree and light. Steve sighed and muttered a curse and rubbed his temples with his middle finger and his thumb. Bucky found himself with a smile trying to fight its way to his face, and wasn’t that strange?

“Okay.”

Tony smiled, and Bucky found himself leaving with them an hour later - his gun in his holster, his bag on his shoulder, and his plums and bread still in the bag in his hand. 


	2. Domestic

“I remembered my name today,” Bucky said quietly when Tony sat down on the couch beside him. There was no one else in the living area. Bucky was certain Natalia was awake, certain she’d seen him and had turned to leave when she’d seen the state he was in. Bucky imagined that was the reason Tony was sitting here beside him now instead of staying holed up in his workshop for another day or so. 

Tony shoved a re-warmed takeout container at him, a fork sticking out of the noodles, and Bucky accepted it. He hadn’t eaten today, had he? He took a big bite, not caring that it was too hot in some places and weirdly cold in others. He stirred it absently as he chewed, trying to distribute the heat. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, just like it says on that shiny new driver’s license and passport I gave you a few weeks ago,” Tony said. He wasn’t looking at Bucky, wasn’t smirking, wasn’t treating it like a joke. 

Bucky appreciated him more than he had before, in that moment. More even than when Tony had figured out that Bucky hadn’t been sleeping in the bed but in his (roomy, spacious) closet because he hadn’t been so certain about the safety of his room - but the closet? The closet was small, was dark, was safe. He’d liked it. But when Tony had figured it out, he’d taken Bucky aside, showed him the security measures in the tower, let Bucky try to break in himself without tripping any alarms - made it a game between him, Natalia, and Clint. When neither of them managed within the set time frame, Bucky had been more at ease. He was given permission to lock down his room barring extreme emergency situations. He kept his windows blacked out at night because that much light when he was trying to sleep was disorienting. 

This didn’t quite compare. Bucky shoved another bite of food in his mouth instead of saying anything. They all knew his memories were coming back stronger now. He’d gotten through a lot of his time with HYDRA in the last couple months, and now that he’d burned through that, the memories of the life he’d had before - the life he’d had with Steve, with the Commandos, with his own parents and the sisters Steve had told him about - were returning. It wasn’t easy to deal with, and more often than not, Bucky found himself hating his memories. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want to remember the things HYDRA had forced him to do, and he didn’t want to remember the person he’d been before that, either. 

“No one could ever find any birth certificate for you, you know?” Tony said - conversational, not digging for information, not forcing Bucky to talk about things. “Most people assumed you just didn’t have one. Lots of people didn’t back then.” He shrugged. “So, as part of the whole documentation to get your identity in order for you, we had one issued by the state of New York. It matches up with the information on your enlistment papers, which was the only documentation anyone had.”

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered around half a mouthful of noodles. He’d been down to just his boxers, earlier, right after his shower. He’d only been in his room, after all. But then the memory had come. And he’d felt cold. He’d added the tee shirt first, and then the sweats. Then the hoodie. Then the socks. Then he hadn’t been able to stand the silence, so he’d come up here and he’d grabbed both blankets from the back of the couch and draped one around his shoulders and one over his lap. He even had his hood up, his hair loose around his face. He still felt too cold, still felt exposed, like the biting, Siberian winter wind and snow would nip at his skin and freeze it. Just because he couldn’t suffer for an extended time from frostbite didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Tony watched the remainder of  _ Peter Pan _ with him in silence. Steve had given Bucky his list of movies and tv shows so he could catch up as well. Bucky preferred the cartoons when he felt this way - and it happened a lot. The bright colors and the songs helped to distract him, though, and it was easy to let himself soak in the shallow plots and easy messages. He’d remembered  _ Snow White _ ,  _ Pinocchio _ , and  _ Fantasia  _ as well.  _ Snow White _ he could stomach,  _ Pinocchio  _ reminded him of himself too much, and  _ Fantasia  _ had just given him nightmares. He remembered Steve’s abashed expression when he’d admitted to crying at  _ Bambi _ , and so he’d avoided that one so far. 

They squirmed closer to each other once  _ Lady and the Tramp _ began. Bucky wasn’t sure which of them had initiated it, but he was still cold, and he liked how Tony wasn’t afraid to be near him like most of the others were. They hid it well, sure, but they were afraid all the same. Tony never was - he touched Bucky all the time. Squeezing his shoulder, patting his back, on one memorable occasion, squeezing his ass - though, to be fair, it had been to embarrass Steve, hugging him, all but plastering himself to Bucky’s side when he was working on Bucky’s arm (and that had been its own unique struggle for Bucky), or worming his way under Bucky’s arm to steal the last cup of coffee from the pot or the first piece of bacon from the pan when he helped Steve make breakfast. 

Bucky wound up with his head down, mostly on Tony’s chest.  He was stretched out across the rest of the couch, but Tony didn’t seem to mind his current occupation as a pillow. He simply pushed his hand under Bucky’s hood and began running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. And Bucky relaxed. 

Lady had just been freed from the pound when Bucky spoke. 

“Roberta Louise Barnes,” he murmured. Tony’s fingers paused for only a second, and then he went right back to the same soothing pattern - scratching his nails lightly over Bucky’s scalp in a little zig-zag pattern, and then dragging his fingers through the rest of Bucky’s hair only to start again. 

Tony snorted. “I’ll bet Steve doesn’t even remember that.” Bucky snorted an all-too-wet sounding laugh. Tony whispered a quiet thank you into Bucky’s hair, and they didn’t talk about it again.


	3. memories and past lives

Of course, that first memory gave way to more memories. Bucky found himself sitting in his closet again, but Tony was on the other side of the door. Tony wasn’t trying to convince him to leave - he was just asking Bucky if he could help, and fuck, but Bucky loved him so much for that kindness. It ached hollowly in his chest. 

Bucky’s back was pressed against the door, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands in his hair, his face pressed to his knees. “Dad didn’t want five girls. Didn’t care when I liked mechanics and boxing and his suits. Cheaper that way, ‘stead of tryin’ to buy more dresses.” Bucky’s breath caught in his throat and he choked on the memories with as fresh as they were. He needed to get it  _ out _ but he hadn’t been able to write this down. 

“Bucky,” Tony said, his tone firm but quiet. “Bucky, you don’t need to tell me this. Do you want your journal?”

“Just shut up and listen!” Bucky snapped - angry, hateful, cruel. He hated himself for it, but he just squeezed his eyes shut tighter, yanked harder at his hair. “Always was skinny, never looked like none’a my sisters. Ma and Dad didn’t care, ‘specially ‘cause it was easier for me to find work. Rebecca’s name was so close to mine, no one ever called me that anyway. Always ‘Bucky.’ And no one  _ knew _ .” He choked on his sob, hated himself for it, hated Tony for hearing it and loving Tony for listening anyway. “Stevie - Stevie figured it out, ‘bout the time we turned sixteen. Thought I was dyin’ or somethin’.” He dug his metal fingers into his upper arm and squeezed hard. “Ran to his momma, the dumbass. Gave ‘imself a asthma attack. Mrs. Sarah found me cryin’, later. I didn’t - didn’t want that. Never wanted it.”

He took a long, shuddering breath, then another. “War office fucked up. Sent a letter to ‘Robert Barnes.’ I took that damn letter to them and skated by in the exam, barely. Went to fuckin’ war, a Sergeant. Peggy Carter figured it out real damn quick, after Steve got me from Azzano, but she never said anythin’. Commandos eventually figured it out, though I’d kept it from ‘em the whole time we were in Azzano together. No one ever knew.”

“Until HYDRA,” Tony said, very quietly. 

“HYDRA didn’t have any fuckin’ use for a woman,” Bucky spat angrily. “Don’t remember much, not - not after the train. I figure they gave me more serum - or something different. I don’t know. Don’t  _ care _ .” He could feel the dangerous pressure in his upper arm from where he was squeezing too tight. If he kept it up, he’d snap the bone. He forced his fingers to relax, dug them into his palm. “Finally - finally fuckin’ thought I’d never have to deal with this shit again.” He snapped his head back and relished in the explosion of pain across the back of his skull as it impacted against the door. 

He heard Tony shifting behind the door. There was a long, soft sigh. Bucky stretched his legs out in front of himself. It felt… not better, now that he’d gotten the words out, but the pressure wasn’t as intense. If he couldn’t write it down, usually he could go to Steve - or even Natalia, as he built more and more of a relationship with her. But he hadn’t been able to go to either of them with this. It was too big. Too damaging. He didn’t want them to see him as anything less than what he actually  _ was _ . 

But Tony… Tony already knew. He was safe. It was funny - weird funny, not haha funny - how Bucky had trusted him almost from the very beginning, back when Tony had appeared in his apartment back in Romania.

“Look, I'm not going to tell you I understand. I'm not going to tell you that I can fix this because this is getting into those squishy sciences territories that I'm so very not-good at.” 

Bucky snorted because Tony had proven that wasn't true when he'd expertly stitched up a cut on Bucky's arm when Bucky had refused to go to medical, or when he'd all but scrapped the insides of Bucky's arm and completely rebuilt it. Tony knew a lot about biology - just maybe not about this. Bucky could, at the least, appreciate his honesty. 

“What I will tell you is that we can figure out a way to deal with it if you want to. But only if you want to, and only if it'll make you more comfortable. It… it will mean having to talk to Bruce, probably. He understands how yours and Steve's serums interact with everything.” Bucky immediately tensed. “I swear I'm not pushing you into this. You don't have to do it now. You don't have to talk to him for a month or a year or a decade or  _ ever _ , not if you don't want to. But I can't - I can't do this.” 

What really got to Bucky was how genuinely distressed Tony sounded about not being able to help him.

“It's okay, Tony,” Bucky murmured. “Right now… I just… Just had to get the words out.” 

Tony was quiet for a long moment. “You know I don't think of you any differently, right? You're still James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky felt hot tears sliding down his face. “Thanks, Tony.”


	4. pepper is gonna kill tony because of it and clint is weird about it (but when is clint not weird)

The weird thing was, Bucky liked Tony. 

And sure, he'd liked Tony for a long time, that wasn't shocking. Tony was the best thing to happen to him since getting away from HYDRA. Tony had convinced him to come to the tower with him and Steve. Tony had been the one to talk to Steve and get Steve to back off when Bucky was having bad days, taught Steve to understand the signs and how to be helpful rather than overbearing. Tony gave him his identity - on paper, legally - and fought to prove his innocence. Tony got him the best therapist he could find. Tony fixed his arm. Tony hadn't just treated him like a person, Tony treated him like  _ Bucky _ \- not Steve's memories of a long-dead man, but the Bucky he was now. The one after HYDRA.

They were in the workshop again. Tony was working on some arrows for Clint, convinced he could figure out a way to make them return to Clint's quiver after he'd fired them. He was slowing down, though, and Bucky was just sitting there watching him. 

He stood, slowly, and walked over to Tony silently. He put his hand to the center of Tony's back, startling him a little. Tony glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and flashed him an exhausted grin. He still had a black eye from his last sparring session with Natasha. It had been entirely accidental, and yet something deep and feral had flared within him when he'd seen it the first time. It had taken a surprising amount of self-control to not hunt Natalia down and threaten her to never hurt Tony again. 

Tony leaned back against him, and that deep part of him that had been so angry to see that bruise on Tony's face settled. He slid his hand down to Tony's lower back and stepped to the side, bringing his metal hand up to Tony's face. Tony didn't flinch. He just looked up at Bucky, watching him curiously as Bucky settled his hand on Tony's cheek. Bucky didn't say anything as he rubbed his thumb under Tony's eye, right at the edge of the bruise.

Bucky used the hand on Tony's lower back to pull him a little closer, bringing them flush together. He bent his head down. He kissed Tony. 

For a moment, Tony didn't react at all. Bucky felt the deep part of himself begin to curl, begin to shrivel. It wouldn't die a fast death, and it would hurt - he knew that - but it began in that second. 

Until Tony's arms wrapped around Bucky's shoulders and he kissed Bucky back. Bucky made a soft, surprised sound, and he could feel Tony's smile through the kiss. Tony tangled one hand in the hair at the back of Bucky's neck - he'd cut it just a few days after the day he'd locked himself in his closet, and it was short the way he'd worn it before the war, now. He licked at Tony's bottom lip, and Tony eagerly sucked Bucky's tongue into his mouth. 

Bucky's hand slid to Tony's hip and gripped a little harder. He tilted Tony's head back a little more, and he licked into Tony's mouth, bit and sucked at Tony's bottom lip. He  _ devoured  _ Tony, and Tony made the most beautiful sounds. 

When Tony was gasping for breath, Bucky broke away and kissed his cheek, his forehead. Tony giggled, a slightly-delirious, high pitched sort of sound. “Holy shit, tell me this isn't some hallucination because I'm sleep deprived.”

Bucky latched his lips to the side of Tony's neck, low enough that his shirt collar would hide it when he wore his button-downs, but not low enough for his tee shirt to hide, and he sucked the skin into his mouth, worrying at it with his lips and teeth and tongue until a deep red mark had formed. 

He traced over the mark with his thumb. “If you have any doubts, just look in a mirror.” He smirked, and Tony laughed. 

“Oh, Pepper is gonna kill me,” Tony sighed, but he sounded happy about it, and he was smiling. “Better be glad I've gotten so good at hiding bruises, there, soldier.” He kissed Bucky lightly, a little playfully. 

“You don't mind?” Bucky asked, suddenly uncertain of himself, of his actions. 

“Pft. If I'd minded, I'd have asked you to stop.” Tony kissed him yet again. “As a matter of fact, just for future information so you have all the relevant data points, mind you, I'd really rather you do that again. A lot, actually. All over would be good.” 

Bucky laughed, a quiet sound. He pressed his forehead to Tony's and just held him for a long, quiet moment, his arms locked securely around Tony. Tony had his arms around Bucky's waist in return, his head resting against Bucky's shoulder. He was relaxed, though his fingertips were tapping a steady rhythm against Bucky's hips. Bucky smiled a little. Tony could never sit still, not even in sleep, he imagined. 

“Watch a movie with me,” Bucky said softly. Tony hummed in acknowledgment, and Bucky grinned. He bent a little and scooped Tony up, hauling him up over his shoulder. Tony let out a soft yelp, then laughed once Bucky began to carry him off toward the elevator.

“We are so totally  _ not _ playing caveman,” Tony said as the elevator doors closed behind them. He reached down and squeezed Bucky's ass. “Not unless you're carrying me off to bed. In which case, by all means. You're more than welcome to toss me in bed and fuck the daylights out of me.” 

A sudden, incredibly intense surge of  _ want  _ hit Bucky like the damn train he'd fallen from so long ago. He tightened his arm around Tony's waist. “Maybe not tonight,” he said, his voice dropping to a slightly lower pitch. 

“Hey, hey.” Tony patted Bucky's shoulder twice. “Let me down, yeah?” Bucky immediately sat Tony on his feet. The elevator doors opened, but they didn't step out. Tony looked up at Bucky with a wide-eyed stare. “That was a joke, okay? We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. You know that, right?”

Bucky snorted. “I very much want to fuck you into the mattress, Tony.” Tony looked confused. “Just not tonight. You're exhausted, and…” Bucky sighed and let his back collide with the elevator wall as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I ain't exactly got the right equipment.” 

Tony's expression softened, and then he smirked. “You really don't have to worry about that in this day and age,” he said, almost - but not quite - flippant. “J, send Bucky my favorite website, would you?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said. It made Bucky flush, thinking of JARVIS seeing the way he'd kissed Tony earlier. And then he just felt like he really wanted to do it again. So he did. He cupped Tony's cheeks and kissed the breath from his lungs, not quite devouring him the way he had down in the ‘shop, but nearly. There was a sweeter edge to it this time, and Tony responded in kind. 

“Oh, what the hell.” Bucky pulled away from Tony and looked to the side. Steve was dragging his hand down his face. “I've had to explain the whole ‘elevators are not rooms’ distinction to Tony at least a dozen times, but I really thought you'd have the sense to know better, Buck!” He looked only a little embarrassed, but mostly weirdly proud and happy. 

“The living room is a room,” Bucky said thoughtfully. Tony cackled, and Bucky smirked at him. “What do you say, doll face? Wanna take this to the couch?”

“I do recall you promising me a movie,” Tony said. “It'll make for some good background noise.” They snickered at Steve's loud, overblown sigh. 

“Do that in the privacy of your own rooms,” Steve insisted. “Not everyone wants to walk into a room and see the two of you sucking each other's faces off!”

“Who doesn't?” Clint appeared from behind Steve, using one of Steve's shoulders to balance himself. “Don't be such a prude, Stevarino. I'd totally watch Bucky and Tony make out.” 

“Now you've just made it weird, Barton,” Tony said, but he was laughing. He looked back to Bucky. “You still wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said softly. 

“Oh, dibs!” Clint called as he sauntered back the way he'd come.

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head and muttered something about overgrown children. They left the elevator, at last, and Steve patted Bucky's shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze as he passed. Bucky just smiled a little and followed after Tony.

As Bucky had predicted, once they were all settled in the living room - and, somehow, everyone was there tonight for the impromptu movie - Tony settled against Bucky and almost immediately fell straight to sleep. Natalia gave him a small smile, one of her very rare  _ real _ smiles. Bruce just had a happy, content air about him. Thor even seemed glad for them. It was weird, but Bucky rolled with it and played with Tony's hair as he watched a pirate named Wesley save a princess in red from the short guy who'd been planning to murder her.


	5. pinocchio wasn't a real boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags for this chapter:  
> non-graphic sex, non-graphic masturbation, dysphoria, non-graphic flashback, non-graphic violence

The internet was one of the best parts about 2016. Bucky had had the thought many times over the several months since coming to live at the tower. The sheer amount of information available - for free - over the internet was mind boggling. And he knew some of it wasn't true or that he couldn't trust everything he'd read, but that was fine. He figured out how to tell the difference quickly, and if he was ever uncertain, all he had to do was ask JARVIS. 

He and Tony had been - well, it wasn't going steady, not like it used to be, but it was dating. He thought that was the accurate word for it. They went to dinner together, and Bucky had even gone with Tony to one of his fancy parties. Wearing a tux was an entirely new experience. Seeing Tony's personal tailor had been nerve wracking as hell, but it had gone well. Surprisingly so. 

The whole… hormones, libido, whatever it was. All that returning? That was interesting, and horribly frightening, and also truly a gift. Tony was the most patient person on the planet, Bucky was certain of it. There had been more than a few times - okay, so a lot of times - when things had become hot and heavy between them, only for Bucky to panic and freeze up and run. Tony would give him space and time to calm down, and then he'd ask if Bucky was okay, if there was anything he could do to help. He never expected more than what Bucky could give at that exact moment, and even when Bucky was sure Tony should be frustrated and angry that Bucky hadn't been able to do much more than kiss Tony a little bit for more than a week at one point, Tony had simply told Bucky that he'd had sex more than most people he'd ever known, and that a case of blue balls had not, in fact, ever killed anyone. 

There were good days, good  _ weeks _ , too, when Bucky could take Tony apart piece by piece with his hands and mouth and leave Tony a strung out mess on the bed after hours of teasing torture. Tony only ever did as much in return as Bucky allowed, never asked or pushed for more than what Bucky granted. He did allow Tony to touch him in return, even allowed Tony to put his mouth on him - once or twice - and it had been wonderful, but not quite… right. 

They kissed in public, and Bucky was usually dragging Tony up to the living room for movies or tv to encourage Tony to sleep (on him), but the things that happened in their bedroom stayed solidly within their bedroom. Tony didn't brag, didn't let any details slip, didn't do more than drop a few hints that they'd had sex - but never anything specific, and never anything that Bucky was uncomfortable with other people knowing. 

Tony still had to help Pepper with Stark Industries, though, and he'd had to leave for over three weeks to go to China to install an arc reactor in their plant in Shanghai. Bucky had been desperate for relief, horny beyond measure and aching from it. He so rarely did anything for himself, but he'd done it that day, a little over a week after Tony left. 

He'd used his fingers, first, but it hadn't been  _ enough _ , not quite. It had just frustrated him even more after a solid twenty minutes of effort and nothing to show for it. He'd gotten a dildo, a while back, but he hadn't really used it. It had been little more than an idea, at the time. He'd been uncertain about his comfort level with Tony and what he'd allow Tony to do - if he'd allow Tony to fuck him in return. He hadn't, yet, but a part of him was still waiting for that time when he could trust himself not to flip out and hurt Tony if something happened. So he found the dildo, exactly where he'd left it, washed it - again, since it had been so long - and returned to his bed. 

It was different. Odd. He wasn't sure he liked it. But the urge to come his brains out wasn't going away, and this was something he'd want to give Tony at some point, if he could. He found lube, next, and lubed the dildo. He pushed it in slowly, cringing a little at the sensation. But as he drug it back out, he shivered. It had worked, sort of. He tried again, then again. Soon enough, he was close to the edge - closer than he had been with his fingers alone. He tilted his hips a little and that was it, that was enough. He nearly bit through his lip as he clamped down on it, his muscles locking into place as he shook from the orgasm. 

When it was finally over, he had a short little warm afterglow. He didn't feel like he was burning alive because he was fucking horny anymore. But it didn't last long, either. He drug himself to the shower and scrubbed too hard at his skin that suddenly felt too tight and itchy. It was as if someone had stripped him out of it, put it through the dryer to shrink it, and then forced him inside again. He hated it. He tried not to scratch listlessly. He knew it wouldn't help.

He cleaned up his bed and the dildo, put everything back where it belonged. He'd just wanted a little relief, dammit, and it had worked, and then it hadn't. He hated it. He hated how things couldn't just be easy. He flopped back into his bed and shut his eyes. Sleeping was as difficult for him as it was for Tony, sometimes, so when he felt tired, he usually at least made the attempt to sleep. 

He did sleep, this time. He didn't know how long, not for sure, but it was late in the afternoon when he woke. He was hot and irritated, too. He knew he'd dreamed, but he couldn't remember what it was about. His skin still didn't feel right, still felt  _ wrong _ , like it was mocking him somehow. 

He found gym shorts and an old tee and headed for the gym to burn off the aggression. He took the time to tape his flesh hand before wailing on some of Steve's punching bags. He knew he wasn't in the right headspace for fighting with any of the other members of the team - he didn't want to hurt anyone. Running the way Steve did was pointless and he didn't like it. It didn't give him any sort of release. Punching the bags helped, some. Not enough, not really, but some. 

Until someone put their hand on his shoulder. He spun and attacked. No thought. 

His mind was perfectly blank other than  _ attack and defend _ . He had to attack this new handler. He would not let them touch him again. Never. He would defend himself this time. They would have to do far worse than tie him down, because he would make them  _ bleed, make them suffer for what they'd done  _ -

“Bucky!”

He collapsed into a heaving mess on the floor, soaked with sweat and tears and snot. He dug his fingers into his hair as he pushed his forehead into the mat on floor.

“Buck,” Steve tried, his voice gentler this time.

“Don't you fucking touch me,” Bucky snarled, vicious and hateful. He could feel the air move where Steve jerked away. 

Fuck. He remembered. He remembered HYDRA and the worst of his handlers. The ones who'd taken sick pleasure in breaking him while they were forcing him to become the Winter Soldier. He'd fought so long, and so hard, to keep himself in tact. But then they'd had that chair, and it had taken everything but instinct from him. Before the chair, they'd broken him. Whittled away every part of his  _ self _ until there was nothing left for them to take. The chair just made sure he never got it back, really. 

He was still there on the floor, half crying, half raging, when Natalia came to him. “Yasha,” she said quietly. “What's happened?”

“HYDRA,” Bucky spit bitterly. In Russian, he said, “I remembered how they broke me.”

“What will make it better?” she asked, as if it were really that simple and easy. 

He didn't have an answer. Not one she would understand. He just shook his head. Natalia didn't sigh, didn't say a word, and didn't leave. She sat with him while he scraped himself together piece by piece. He still didn't feel whole, still didn't feel right, but he was able to clean his face and make his way back to his room for another shower and a change of clothes. 

Natalia was in his room when he came out of the bathroom, only a towel around his waist. He wasn't surprised. He went to his closet to dress, then sat on his bed opposite Natalia and explained. 

She was blank-faced the entire time. She didn't offer useless apologies. She didn't say she didn't know. She didn't say she did. She just accepted all of it calmly, and when Bucky had finished, she asked again: 

“What will make it better?”

“I don't know,” Bucky admitted. She and Tony were now the only two people who knew. Steve might, but Bucky hadn't exactly gone to him to ask if he remembered something like that. It wasn't important enough. Steve had never cared, other than that one time when they were sixteen and he'd been so afraid Bucky was going to literally  _ die _ , and he'd never treated Bucky as anything less than his actual brother. The rest simply hadn't been important. 

“Bruce might,” she said, just a suggestion. “Does your therapist know?” Bucky shook his head. “That… seems like something worth sharing, but that isn't my place.”

She was right. It wasn't. He didn't say that, but. He got the feeling she understood his feelings on the matter when she reached across the bed and squeezed his fingers gently. “Yasha. Call Tony.”

“He's working,” Bucky protested immediately. “I'm not going to bother him with this shit.”

“It isn't bothering him, and it isn't shit,” she said, perhaps a little more sharply than she'd intended. 

Thinking of Tony made the reservoir of guilt that always existed inside him well up, overflowing and overwhelming. It had been Steve who'd found him in the gym, who'd touched him, who he'd attacked - but what if it had been Tony? Bucky never could have forgive himself if he'd hurt Tony the way he'd been trying to hurt Steve. Flashes of the fight, his dirty moves and his incapacitating blows, were coming back to him, and he realized that Steve had been barely holding his own against him. Tony never would have survived. 

“I can't stay here,” Bucky whispered, guilt and shame making his voice crack dangerously. 

Natalia's hand tightened on his wrist. “Don't leave without telling Tony - without explaining why. He will think it was his fault.”

“It wasn't,” Bucky said miserably. 

“He won't believe that from me or anyone else.” 

The worst part was that Bucky knew she was right. He nodded once, sharply, and she squeezed his wrist once before letting go and climbing off the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to get Bruce?”

“No,” he said. He wasn't… ready for that, not yet. He didn't want more people to know. It had been hard enough telling her. “Not yet,” he clarified. 

“Whenever you're ready,” she said with a nod. She turned to leave, then half-turned to look at him again, searching his face. “Don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes… it's easier after you've made the decision. Choosing is hard, for me. Sticking with something less so. Following orders is the least difficult of them all. I give myself my own orders, these days, but the freedom that comes with that is a struggle every single day.” 

Bucky nodded because he understood. Their free will had be stripped from their bones. They weren't people, they were tools. It was so much  _ easier  _ to allow someone else to make all the decisions. But Bucky refused to let that happen again. Adamantly refused. Yes, he struggled with figuring out what he should do for himself on a daily basis as well, but he wouldn't give up that struggle for the entire world. 

He understood why Natalia had offered this tidbit, though. She was giving away a little piece of herself. She could never give away as much as he had just now, so she was giving a little something that she  _ could _ . Bucky appreciated the attempt, at least. 

She was also, subtly, offering to take this decision from him - if he wanted her to. She would tell Bruce for him, explain the situation. He didn't want that. 

“I like making my own decisions,” he said firmly, “even if it's too hard some days. I won't allow anyone to take that from me again.”

She nodded her acceptance and left. 

Bucky grabbed one of his journals and began to write - not for himself this time, but for Tony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little note for this chapter specifically:  
> i am not trans. i consider myself non-binary. but i feel the way i've described above. wrong. itchy. like my skin doesn't quite fit right. it doesn't happen a lot anymore, and it isn't quite so overwhelming as it used to be. but i also have accepted that i'm at a point where i can't do anything to change the way i dress or present - my job, the place i live, my family, none of those factors allow for that sort of thing.  
> did i write this correctly? (sensitively enough, with the correct dialogue and word choices, with all the politically correct boxes checked) fuck if i know. i wrote it because *I* needed to write it, and that's sort of what fanfic is literally for.  
> if you have a problem with something i've written here, then please, keep it to yourself (unless i've seriously offended someone - which i don't think i have considering i'm writing this from a very personal standpoint about the way i personally feel). i'm projecting onto a character. i'm allowed to do that. it's fiction. it's *fan*fiction.  
> it also wasn't like i had a sensitivity reader who could check over this for me first, so keep that in mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for violence and a little bit of torture

There was a tracker in his arm. He knew it. Tony had told him, shown him what it looked like and where he was installing it, and walked him through step-by-step how to activate or deactivate it. He'd left it deactivated at first, not wanting anyone to follow him. He'd left his phone. He'd taken the card Tony had given him, found an ATM close to the tower, withdrew every penny he could from the machine, and then tore the card into pieces and ditched that, too. He didn't even take his driver's license or passport - not the ones Tony had made for him. He had his old ones, but he'd burned the fakes he'd used in Romania and chose a different set. He had only his old, battered backpack from before and his .44 magnum and three knives. 

He took a bus to Atlanta and blended with the homeless population for a week before figuring out where he was going to go next. The Ukraine was big, was in the same region he was already vaguely familiar with. Kiev was populous, and he could blend well there in the slummier neighborhoods. He cleaned himself up and bought a plane ticket in cash, used his fake passport, and bought a paperback book - an indulgence he never would have allowed himself, before - to read on the plane. 

Finding an apartment didn't take as long as he'd have thought. He kept to himself once he was there, taking small jobs for cash - mostly moving things for people or whatever else someone could pay him under the table for. Some of it was less than savory, but he didn't much care. 

It reminded him of Romania. 

The memories stopped coming, eventually. He'd filled dozens of notebooks. They were crammed in the bottom of his bag. It wasn't until after the memories stopped, though, that he could focus on the future. He could turn his attention away from the past that was constantly trying to drag him back to those years, and he could look forward to what he would do next. He still wasn't certain, even after spending more than two months in Kiev.

In all that time, he'd been paying close attention. He was waiting to see Natalia - cleverly disguised, perhaps, or maybe as herself. Maybe Clint. Steve. Not Tony. He didn't think Tony would come for him. He'd asked him not to, after all. The others had no such compunctions. He'd even said in his letter that he knew he couldn't stop the others from trying to track him down, but he'd asked Tony not to. And he believed he wouldn't. He trusted Tony. 

It wasn't one of the Avengers he spotted, though. At first, he thought it was an anomaly. People came and left Kiev all the time. It was a big city. These men didn't fit, though. They set his teeth on edge, and he avoided them. He didn't know who they were, didn't recognize them. 

He'd ducked down an alley to avoid them, yet again, when others attacked. He fought - of course he fought. They were attacking. He wouldn't let anyone take him without a fight. But they had electric weapons strong enough to murder anyone without a serum. He didn't like electricity - he was afraid of it, of the damage it could do to him. He still had nightmares about the chair they'd forced him into. 

But they got in a good hit. It didn't quite knock him out, but he hit the ground hard, convulsing. They moved in closer as he breathed through his recovery, trying to force his arms to move. The left was damaged. It sparked and twitched, didn't respond the way he needed it to. They hit him again with more electricity - they weren't tasers. He lost consciousness. 

When he woke, it was all at once. His body ached and throbbed unpleasantly. Their first mistake had been leaving him alone. The second was not restraining him, even if he was trapped behind steel doors. He couldn't quite punch through steel, not if the arm was damaged. It didn't matter. He pried plates from the arm, bending them into sharp edges and piling them at his feet. He found the tracker and used a tiny scrap of metal to switch it on. He didn't know what he was facing, but if this was HYDRA again - and why wouldn't it be? who else would know who he was and try to take him? - the Avengers, especially Steve, would want to know. He could leave again, after. 

He waited in the cold, dark room for someone to come. He kept his cache of shivs ready to use. He hadn't killed anyone in well over a year, now, but he was ready. He hadn't forgotten how. 

The darkness was familiar, at least. When HYDRA had had no use for him, mostly they'd kept him in the cryo chamber, but there were times when the cryo chamber had been under repair or when they were upgrading it. He'd been locked in small rooms much like this one. Back then, the silence and darkness had been oddly comforting, though he hadn’t had the capacity to understand that was what it was. He hadn’t known he was grateful that others weren’t hurting him, that he wasn’t hurting others.

Before that, when they’d been breaking him, sensory deprivation had been a favorite technique because he’d responded so very beautifully - in their opinion - to it. He’d hated the darkness, hated the silence. Hated the way his thoughts screamed so loudly in his brain. Hated the uncertainty, the cold, the all-consuming nature of the silence and darkness. 

It wasn’t as bad, now, not as it had been back then, before he knew how to handle it. Now he understood what they wanted from him, he knew how to fight it, he knew how to empty his head of anything or how to focus solely on his breathing, the sound of his heartbeats and breaths, the faint electrical current that ran through his arm and in the walls. 

He thought of Tony, too. Dreamed of him, first, and then poured over the memories he had of the man. He’d been unable to bear being with Tony, in the end. He wasn’t - wasn’t right. He couldn’t stand being unable to give Tony what he deserved, especially when so many people used him, took advantage of his gifts, his money, his genius, his time, his everything. Bucky had only wanted to give something in return, just one small thing, and he’d been so utterly unable to do that. It wasn’t fair to Tony, and he hated it. 

He wondered if Tony hated him, now. Probably not. Tony was too self-sacrificing, too self-defeating, self-deprecating. Everything was always his fault, even when it wasn’t. No one else seemed to fully grasp the depths of that, though he suspected Natalia knew and simply did nothing to solve the problem. Bucky had wanted to help fix it. He’d failed so spectacularly. 

He didn’t deserve Tony, not in the slightest. Tony deserved someone - someone  _ right _ . Not someone as broken and pieced back together as he was, not someone who was missing pieces, not someone who couldn’t even give him sex - even if he’d wanted to, even if he’d tried. Tony deserved someone who could give him everything. Bucky couldn’t give him anything at all.

Bucky supposed the only thing he was good for was luring out the new HYDRA cells. He could get captured, again and again, and the Avengers could swoop in and eliminate them. It sounded pretty good in his head. Maybe he could suggest that to Natalia when he got out of this damn room. If they were even getting the signal from the tracker. If they were even coming. If, if, if. 

If they didn’t come, what would he do? He’d fight, of course. He’d never let them take his memories from him again so easily. But he knew he couldn’t win - not against so many of them, not with their fancy-fuck tasers, not with their limitless ability to torture him until he broke. Again.

He sat curled against the wall with his knees to his chest and the mostly-useless, broken arm down by his side and his right arm wrapped around his legs. He didn’t want to sleep, not here, but he couldn’t quite stop it from happening. He barely even recognized the difference between being asleep and being awake, anymore. He didn’t know how long it had been, but he was hungry - beyond it, really. He’d gone a very, very long time without food before, but he couldn’t have said exactly how long that had been, or exactly how long he was going on right now. He had no real frame of reference for it. 

He heard the click in the door of locks disengaging. He stood and stretched his limbs, gathered up his little cache of shivs and stashed them in his pockets for easy access. It took two solid minutes before the door finally unlocked. 

The bright light was blinding, but he didn't wait, didn't hesitate. He slammed forward, one shiv in his hand, the sharp edges of the metal cutting into his palm and making it slick even as he sliced and stabbed his way through the first captor. His vision cleared slowly. So slowly. He was too used to the darkness. The people before him were dark blurs, but that didn't matter. He knew where to strike, where to make it  _ hurt _ . 

He left his first shiv embedded in the second man's eye, then grabbed the next shiv and struck the third man in the throat, blood spurting from his carotid artery in a messy spray. He left that one to die with a sharp kick to the chest, and turned his attention to the forth.

This one put up more of a fight, but he made a mistake. As Bucky's vision continued to clear, he recognized the taser-like weapon on his belt. The man didn't go for it, but rather his gun. Bucky turned to the side and let the upper plates of his arm deflect the bullet and he slammed forward with the shiv, burying it in the man's belly and ripping it out to the side, his guts spilling over the floor and their boots. Bucky snatched the man's trench knife from his belt and slammed it into his temple. 

There were no more assailants for the moment, but only for the moment. He clenched his fist around the blade twice, then bent and relieved the men of their guns and knives and spare ammo, shoving it in his pockets and boots and every other place he could fit it. 

The klaxons began to blare as he stepped away from the men, and Bucky smirked, a grim expression. These idiots had no idea how to contain the goddamn Winter Soldier, especially not one with all his thoughts in - mostly - the right places. He had no masters. He did not bow to them any longer. 

He stalked through the halls, shooting everything that moved. He liberated more bullets and guns as he went, even if he didn't necessarily have the room for it. He was a one-man armory, and he'd be damned if these assholes would take him again without more blood. 

He was met with a literal wall of resistance when he came to a bigger room. He wasn't entirely sure what the room was meant to be, exactly, but that didn't matter. He used what little control he had over his busted arm to deflect what bullets he could and he shot or stabbed his way through the men trying to take him down. Those with the taser-weapons be was especially brutal toward, and the more they attempted to use them against him, the more vicious he became.

He sank deep into his old training, into the mindset HYDRA had given him. He thought it was probably ironic that he was using the abilities they gave him against them, but he relished at every spurt of blood, every scream of terror or pain. He let the blood wash over him and soak into his clothes and hair and paint his skin. 

He was the master now. He was free of their tortures. He would show them exactly how much they had fucked up by using him the way they had. 

By the time he'd finished with the room of men, the klaxons had ceased blaring. He was tense and panting. The floor was slick with blood and entrails. He was bleeding sluggishly from several grazes and one direct hit to his calf where someone had managed to land a shot. 

“Soldier.” 

Bucky turned slowly, shifting his grip on the knife in his hand. It wasn't meant to throw - the balance was off. He'd already sacrificed several of them, tossing them into chests and stomachs to take down the men attacking him. He could land a hit, that wasn't the problem. The problem was doing it efficiently and cleanly. Quickly. 

He didn't recognize the man in front of him. That didn't mean much. He hadn't actually interacted with many HYDRA operatives, even when he was out of cryo. The man was alone, standing straight and tall. He had a gun, but otherwise, he had no visible weapons. The gun wasn't even in his hand. 

“Where is the exit?” Bucky asked. It was worth a shot, he figured. 

“Now, now,” the man said with a nasty little smirk. I don't think you'll be going anywhere. He opened his mouth, and Bucky could  _ see  _ the word his mouth was forming before he spoke it. Bucky let the knife fly. 

The knife buried in the man's skull, and he was knocked backward. Bucky walked around, collecting more knives, more guns, more clips. He slung more rifles than were strictly necessary across his shoulders. Armed to the literal teeth once more - he wasn't joking, he had a knife clenched between his teeth for easier access - he stalked out of the room and in the direction the men had come from. 

A handful of resistance met him at a few places, but it seemed as if the bigger portion of whatever force was located at this base had already encountered him. He showed no mercy, cutting them all down - even when they begged for him to spare them. They had taken him, locked him in that room, planned to use him. He wasn't inclined to let any of them live. 

He found an armory, of sorts, and grabbed enough C4 to level an entire block of New York. He began placing charges as he went, though he was hampered since he was down one arm. He knew he could be faster, but he had time, it seemed. No one chased him down. 

It took a long time to find the exit to the complex. He had to backtrack several times. But when he finally stepped outside, he took a deep breath. He was tired. The ache in his leg was noticeable now that adrenaline wasn't pushing him to  _ keep moving, don't stop, don't rest, don't think about it, it isn't important, it doesn't matter more than getting out, get away _ . 

The complex was in the woods somewhere. He didn't know where, exactly. He wasn't familiar with the terrain. But it didn't matter. He got far enough away to blow the charges and let the heat from the explosion wash over him. He sat heavily on the ground and looked up at the sky, watching the huge, black clouds of smoke fill the sky. 

He was very tired. 


	7. “Love pure and chaste from afar” (ie: pining)

The local authorities eventually arrived because of the smoke. Bucky barely avoided them, exhausted as he was. But he got away, didn't allow _them_ to take him either. There wasn't anywhere for him to seek shelter, to relax, to even clean his wounds. He knew they would heal eventually, but it would hurt like a bitch when the bullet in his leg began to force its way out. He wondered why the Avengers - why Steve and Tony - had never shown. Maybe the arm was too broken, maybe the tracker had been damaged when he was hit with the electrical current.

He walked for three days through the dense woods. He slept a lot - more than he was accustomed to, certainly. But he had no food, and he'd lost a lot of blood. At the end of the third day, he found a little cabin. It was well-kept, and there was a small dirt road that lead, probably, to a highway. He broke in easily. It looked like a ranger's or a hunter's cabin. He ate their food, first, then showered off the old, dried blood and set to work on the bullet hole in his calf that had already healed over. His body had begun pushed the bullet toward the surface already, so it was easy - if painful - to reopen the wound and dig the bullet out. Cleaning everything up after was hard, too, but mostly because he was exhausted again.

He slept in the closet, small and cramped though it was.

The next morning, he found that the phone worked. He listened to the dial tone for a long, tense moment before putting it back on the receiver.

Should he call the Avengers? He'd handled the HYDRA base on his own, after all. There was no problem there anymore. The men who'd captured him were all dead. The complex was gone, blown to bits. There was nothing for them to do.

He looked down at the metal arm that was just dead weight against his side. If he wanted any chance at getting through his life, he needed one of two things: the arm would either need to be fixed or removed entirely. He could function well enough without it, or he'd learn to, anyway. But keeping it the way it was wasn't an option.

To get rid of it or fix it, he needed Tony.

But was he ready to face him? Was he ready for the judgement, the pleas to return with them? He wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure because he didn't know if he'd have the strength to say no, to return to his run-down little apartment and continue his near-meaningless existence. To deny Tony to his face. To deny Steve. To turn his back on Natalia yet again - even if he hadn't had a choice the last time.

He missed Clint, too. He missed their talks about guns and Clint's stupid stories. He missed Thor's sheer joy for battle and the way he treated everything like a battle. He missed Bruce's quiet and calm, the advice he'd given so many times that helped Bucky keep his head in the right place.

He missed _Tony_.

He picked up the phone again and dialed the number he'd memorized long ago.

“Hello?” the question was short, clipped.

Bucky sank to his knees beside the wall where the phone was mounted. His hand tightened around the phone, making the plastic creak. “Tony,” he breathed.

“Oh, christ, _Bucky_.” There was some muttered conversation on the other line, Tony talking to someone else for a moment. And then silence. “What - what's wrong?”

Bucky _hated_ that Tony automatically assumed something was wrong, and he hated that he was living up to that expectation.

“I missed you,” Bucky said first, because it was the truth. Tony made a strange noise, but he didn't say anything. “I'm - I'm not sure how long ago it was, honestly. But about four days ago there was an explosion in a forest somewhere either in or near the Ukraine.”

“I heard about that,” Tony said slowly. “They said they thought it was some sort of paramilitary group, and they'd been fucking around with some C4.”

Bucky snorted. “They weren't the ones fucking around with the C4, but they did fuck with someone they shouldn't have.”

Tony was very quiet for a long moment. Too long. “So it was HYDRA. And they took you.” Bucky hummed. “Why - why didn't you activate the tracker in your arm? We'd have - well. Steve. And the others. They'd have come. They'd have helped.”

“I did,” Bucky said. “I, um. The arm's busted. They had these weapons. Like tasers, but not. They're too strong for that. And it shorted out the arm. Guess it fucked with the tracker, too.”

“Shit,” Tony whispered. Bucky could already hear him blaming himself in his head. He didn't have to see Tony's face to know he had that pinched expression and he was probably running his hand through his hair, endlessly frustrated with himself, thinking he should have predicted this even if there was no possible way he'd have been able to.

“Don't apologize,” Bucky said, gentle but still commanding. “You couldn't have known, and there was nothing you could do to prevent this. It's not - not a big deal, not really. They didn't fry the arm until they had me down, anyway, so it wouldn't have helped.” He took a deep breath. “I killed them all,” he whispered, “and I blew up the complex. I couldn't let them have me again. I couldn't go back to that.”

Tony made another noise Bucky couldn't decipher. Then he took a deep breath. “Can I come to you? It - it can be just me in the suit, or I can bring the quinjet. I can bring the others. Whatever you want.”

“Just you,” Bucky said quietly. “In the suit.” He hoped that made things clear. He didn't intend to return.

“Okay. JARVIS is getting a flight plan together now. Won't be long. Just - just stay where you are. J traced the call, so I know where you are. I'll bring some stuff.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Bucky hung up the phone before he could say anything else, and he flopped around to sit with his back to the wall, his head in his hand. God, he was going to fuck this up even worse than he already had. He could feel it.

* * *

Bucky slept again. He still hadn't recovered from those days in the dark, in the silence, without food, and the fight. He'd eaten all the meager foods left in the cabin, though, and he didn't have the energy to go and find more food right now, so sleeping would have to do. He wasn't even sure if it was possible for him to starve to death.

Something woke him much later, and he was on his feet with a gun in his hand before he'd even processed what he'd heard or if he was awake. He dragged himself out of the small bedroom area near the back of the cabin - he hadn't squeezed himself into the closet for sleep this time, and he cursed himself for the slip-up - and he stumbled over the ache in his calf as he made it to the door. His gun was up and ready to fire as he shoved the door open.

It was the Iron Man suit. He slowly lowered the gun, looking around for any signs of the other Avengers. It looked like Tony was alone, though. He finally let it fall to his side, and the helmet on the suit retracted. Tony looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. The suit opened around him and he stepped out of it. He was in jeans and a sweater, and he looked… soft. Bucky felt ashamed, suddenly, that he'd asked Tony to come here - to fly the suit here instead of bringing the quinjet, which was no doubt more comfortable and would have allowed Tony to get a little rest, as well.

He looked at the ground and took a step back inside, half tempted to shut and bar the door, to refuse to let Tony enter. But he'd already come all this way, and that wasn't fair of him, was it? To have Tony fly here and then refuse to see him, refuse to speak to him.

He retreated inside nonetheless, but he left the door open. Tony followed. Bucky glanced up and saw Tony had a duffle bag with him. He didn't ask what was in it or why he'd brought it, he just sat on the lumpy couch and kept his eyes on the floor between his feet.

“I had a - a lot of time. To think, you know?” Tony began. He didn't come closer. “I thought about what I'd say when I saw you, how this might happen. And… Bucky. Just answer me one question, please.” Bucky nodded. “Why don't you want to come back, come home?”

Bucky didn't have an answer immediately. It wasn't like he'd put serious thought into why he couldn't go back, only why he  _shouldn't_. “I hurt you,” he said softly. “I don't - I don't deserve -”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tony snapped, far angrier than Bucky expected. He jerked his head up to look at him, startled - baffled. Tony had never said anything so harshly to him before, even if Bucky had probably deserved it more than once. “You don't get to say that. You don't. You don't get to decide what you deserve or if you hurt me.”

Bucky supposed that was true, probably. He didn't. It wasn't fair to Tony.

“I love you, you gigantic moron,” Tony said, still angry. Bucky's eyes widened. “You said in your letter that you might come back. One day. And I've been waiting. I thought, maybe, it was too much. Living in the tower with a bunch of superheroes, that can get exhausting. Watching us go out and get ourselves nearly killed, me leaving to deal with SI, my general brand of bullshit you had to put up with, the unbelievable amount of pain you've suffered because of HYDRA and what they did to you, what they forced you to do. It's a lot. And I was giving you time. I was giving you space. And yeah, it hurt, knowing you had to leave and that you couldn't just stay - but I _understood,_  dammit. The only reason I don't live like a fucking hermit on some tropical island is because of SI and my laundry list of issues regarding sand and water.

“But what you  _deserve_? Bucky, you deserve to live in peace. You deserve happiness. I understand that we couldn't give you that. I understand that it - it's better, for you, to stay in some city where no one knows who you are or what you've done so you can just exist and not have to worry about anything. But goddamn, we want you to be _happy,_  we don't want you to just exist.”

Tony didn't exactly look close to tears, but Bucky thought he might have been anyway. He knew he felt close to it himself. And he was - he was tired. Tony was right. He hadn't been happy in Kiev or in Romania. He'd been existing. He'd thought it was enough, but how long could he keep that up, realistically?

And he missed Tony. He missed Steve. He missed Natalia and Clint, Bruce and Thor. JARVIS. He missed the tower and his room and his bed. He missed movie nights and reheated take out and late nights in the workshop. He missed _Tony_.

Bucky just sat there, silent. He didn't know what to say. Tony deflated. He dropped the duffle on the couch beside Bucky and unzipped it. Inside was a new arm. Bucky's breath caught in his throat as Tony took it out and sat it on the cushions. He watched Tony grab tools - and protein bars. He shoved several at Bucky, then turned his attention to Bucky's busted arm, grabbing and discarding tools as he made quick work of detaching it from the base that had been essentially soldered to his shoulder.

Bucky ate the protein bars in silence. Tony shoved a drink at him immediately after, also from the bag, and Bucky drank that, too. He felt better for the food, but he still didn't know what to say. Tony connected the new arm and stepped back.

“Move the arm. Flex your fingers. It might take a minute or two for it to fully integrate with the shit in your shoulder.” Tony was distant, cold.

Bucky did as he was asked mechanically. He felt like he had just been dragged from the cryo chamber. He was ice cold all over. This? He knew he deserved this. He deserved Tony's cold shoulder, his bitterness. He'd done nothing but hurt Tony, and this was why he'd run away - before it could get to this point while he was in the tower, or worse.

“Thank you,” Bucky said quietly, flexing his fingers again and again, feeling the tingly sensation buzzing through the artificial nerves in the arm. It was like it was just waking up after having fallen asleep. It didn't hurt, though he almost wished it did. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Tony said. He shoved his tools into the bag and zipped it shut. He turned and walked toward the door. “I'll leave you to your… whatever. Try giving Steve a call some time. He's worried.”

With that, Tony stepped outside.

Bucky lurched forward off the couch. He made it to the door in three long strides and threw his arms around the Iron Man armor just before it managed to actually take flight. He listened as the repulsors wound down, but he didn't let go of the armor.

“Don't - don't leave yet,” Bucky said, whispered really. “Please. Just. Let me figure out how to say this.” Tony didn't budge. Bucky took a deep breath, and he was glad he was clinging to the back of the armor, not the front, because it meant Tony couldn't see him.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky began. “For - for a lot of things. I fought Steve. At the tower. That day I left. It - it was a bad day. He touched me, and I snapped. I couldn't see that it was  _him_ , though. I only knew that I had to protect myself. And I was trying to kill him.” He hid his face against the suit's shoulder. “I thought - what if that had been you? I'd have killed you. And I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you like that, Tony. So I ran. I can't - I can't be around people. Not that close. I'm not _safe_.”

Tony didn't say a word.

Bucky didn't seem to be able to stop the word vomit now that it had begun. “I tried, Tony. I wanted - wanted to give you everything. All of _me_. I couldn't - couldn't stomach it, after. Had a flashback, to HYDRA, and the handlers when they were breaking me down, forcing me to become their Asset. I'm not  _right_ , and you deserve someone who is. Okay? You deserve someone who isn't broken - isn't so fucked up.”

“We're all fucked up.” Tony didn't quite sound like himself through the voice modulator. Hollow, flat. Like he didn't care. It was wrong, but Bucky didn't call him on it. He released his hold on Tony's suit and took a step back, cringing a little at the twinge in his leg. Something was wrong with it, if it was still hurting this long, but he didn't bother looking at it. It wasn't important.

The suit turned to face him, faceplate firmly closed. “We all have our issues, Bucky. None of us are _right_. And I know what y u mean by that, but…” He shook his head. “It didn't matter. I didn't need anything but you - sex was always optional. A bonus feature, but I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything if I didn't get it. Not with you. But I get it, okay? If this is always going to come between us, then maybe you should stay here.” He turned away again.

Bucky felt like the world shattered the moment the repulsors fired to life and the suit lifted into the air. He hit his knees as Tony hovered in the air. He just looked up at Tony, thinking - the Iron Man suit looked an awful lot like an avenging angel, from this angle. It was appropriate. He just wished someone one avenge all the people he'd killed.

“Call Steve if you need anything,” Iron Man - not Tony, not this time - said, and then turned and flew away.

For the first time since World War II, Bucky broke down in tears.


	8. in which things really are just that easy

Having no purpose didn't suit him. He figured that out about two weeks after hitchhiking his way back to Kiev. His leg had been badly infected, and his body had had a hard time fighting off the infection and healing the rest of him all at the same time. After the first week of more sleeping and eating half his body weight in food every day, the infection and his other injuries healed and scarred and faded. The second week was - dull, uneventful. 

After that, he went looking for trouble. He might have had a little bit too much fun with it. He pummeled some tracksuit mafia idiots, got himself on a few shit lists, and had a little bit of fun baiting everyone the way he wanted to. When he ran into HYDRA again, he let them capture him with barely a fight. The new arm, he'd discovered, had a hidden blade in the wrist - handy, for situations like that. 

They never did try the sensory deprivation technique again. One place tried to get him into something that looked like a chair. Another tried using his code words against him again. A different one tried immediately shoving him in cryo while he was half drugged out of his mind, but even enough ketamine to kill a horse hadn't been quite enough to stop him, only slow him down a bit. 

It was… fun. He wasn't happy, no, but this was close. As close as he thought he deserved to get, anyway. 

And then Steve showed up at the next HYDRA base. Bucky hadn't managed to escape and kill them all yet, mostly because they'd gotten a little smarter. The HYDRA agents were combining their techniques and learning what really set him off. They kept him out of sensory deprivation rooms, kept him away from anything resembling the chair, and didn't show him a cryo chamber. But they'd combined the taser-weapons and the drugs, and that, he discovered, was one hell of a knock-out combo. 

They'd strung him up, this time. His arms were locked above his head in mag cuffs. He'd been stripped of his weapons and boots, but he was glad they hadn't quite gotten around to cutting off his clothes by the time he woke up and began to struggle and fight. They didn't think to chain his legs, the idiots. He'd snapped two necks before they hit him with the taser thing again. When they finally killed the current, all he could do was hang there and breathe. Whatever Tony had done to his new arm, it didn't fry because of the high voltage. 

They stuck him with the drugs again, and he couldn't fight as they immediately cuffed and chained his legs to the floor, learning from past mistakes. They had just finished cutting his shirt off when Steve broke the door in and bashed their skulls in with that damn shield of his.

Bucky was too out of it to do much more than drool on Steve as Steve got him out of the cuffs and lowered to the floor. He was half aware of Steve talking to someone else, but Bucky didn't know who or what he was saying. Even the drug cocktail couldn't cut through the pain from the long, drawn-out shocks he'd endured. But the drugs did finally knock him out. Or maybe it was Steve. He didn't know for sure, he just knew that he woke up somewhere else. 

He recognized the sterile smell. A hospital or the equivalent. He scrunched his nose and immediately sat up to shove the blankets away and leave. He was in - not his clothes. Panic ripped through him like that damn taser. These were scrubs, not his clothes, and - 

“Oh.” His head snapped up. Bruce was standing at the door. He stepped inside and the door shut behind him. “I didn't think you'd be awake quite yet. You had enough ketamine, morphine, and dimethyltryptamine in your system to make an entire frat house happy.” Bruce gave him a wry smile. “I can't help but wonder why they thought giving you hallucinogens would be a good idea.”

“Made me docile,” Bucky rasped. Bruce grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and passed it over, and Bucky guzzled it down in a few seconds. “Didn't know what they were doing to me, so I didn't fight.” 

Bruce nodded, though he didn't quite look as if he believed Bucky. He propped his back against the counter across the room and shoved his hands in his pocket. “I think there's a conversation we need to have. Things… make more sense now, if you'll forgive me for saying so. I don't mean about you, your personality or the way you look or anything like that. I only mean medically. Blood work, that sort of thing.” 

“HYDRA were dicks,” Bruce said, sounding tired and looking twice as old as he usually did. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Like, colossal dicks. Hulk-sized dicks.”

“Gonna tell me why?” Bucky asked. “And where the fuck are my clothes?”

“Tony's bringing you some,” Bruce said. “We're in the tower. You can leave again whenever you like, but… well, we weren't going to leave you the way you were.” Bucky nodded tightly. “JARVIS, please don't let Tony come into the room until I give the all clear, okay? Doctor-patient confidentiality is still a thing, even if I'm really not that sort of doctor.” 

Bucky paced around the room, feeling like he was trapped. He hated the medical rooms and refused to step foot in them most of the time. He didn't want to be here, but he had the feeling Bruce wasn't going to let him leave until he'd said his piece.

“While HYDRA had you, they gave you the serum, but it wasn't just that. They'd also been giving you a cocktail with testosterone and steroids and… honestly, I'm not quite certain what else. It's been difficult to synthesize. Once you broke free from them, you were no longer getting a steady supply of those drugs.” Bucky froze, his eyes glued to the wall rather than on Bruce. “It won't be difficult to figure out a way to synthesize something similar but less damaging that you can continue to take. It make things… easier.”

Bucky couldn't answer. He knew what Bruce meant. He just - hadn't thought anything like that was possible, not with his serum. He also hadn't ever spoken to Bruce about it, but that was because he hadn't been comfortable with Bruce knowing. He still didn't know why they'd taken his clothes now, but he could guess and he wasn't thrilled. 

“I'll let you think about it.” Bruce gave him a small, gentle smile. “Just let JARVIS know when you want your clothes. I think Steve and Tony both want to speak with you before you leave.” He left, then, and Bucky sank into one of the chairs in the room. 

Was it really that easy?

It didn't take him long to get his head together, but mostly it was his body screaming for food that drove him out of the room. He found his clothes in a bag on the floor in front of the door, so he took them back into the room and changed quickly. 

“JARVIS, where is Steve?” He figured Steve would be the more difficult conversation to deal with, so he wanted to get that one over with first. 

“Captain Rogers is on his own floor, Sergeant,” JARVIS answered. 

“Thanks,” Bucky sighed. He scraped his hand through his hair. It had grown too long again. “How bad do you think he's going to yell at me?”

“I couldn't say,” JARVIS said, and Bucky frowned slightly. He sounded cool, almost detached. 

“Guess you're pissed at me, too, huh?” Bucky muttered. “I deserve that.”

“I am merely concerned for Mr. Stark's welfare, Sergeant, and how badly seeing you will set him back. Again.” 

“What do you mean?” Bucky looked at the camera in the corner of the elevator and frowned. “Set him back how?”

“Mr. Stark had been drinking again,” JARVIS said quietly, and Bucky knew he wasn't imagining the heartbreak in JARVIS's tone. 

Bucky felt his stomach sink to his feet. Tony had been a recovering alcoholic the entire time he'd known him. To know Tony had gone back to the bottle because of the way things turned out with him? It felt like his fault. 

He whispered an apology to JARVIS as he stepped off the elevator, but he didn't get a response. He hadn't expected one. He walked to Steve's door and knocked gently. The door wasn't latched, and it swung open before him. Steve was sitting on the couch that was positioned with the back to the big windows. He'd said it gave him the best light for sketching. Bucky stood awkwardly at the door until Steve waved him inside, setting the sketchbook to the side. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, sounding quiet and so… disappointed. 

“Stevie,” Bucky said with a quick nod. 

“Just wanted to see how you were feeling before you ran off again,” Steve said.

“Better,” Bucky chanced. It was lie, and judging from Steve's raised eyebrow, he knew it. “Okay, so I feel like shit. What's new? There's just a different reason for it now.”

“Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll feel better when you head back to Kiev,” Steve said in his I'm-pretending-to-be-diplomatic-while-implying-you're-an-idiot tone. Bucky was familiar with that one. “Just a couple of requests, if you don't mind. Stop getting captured by HYDRA. There are better ways to hunt them down. You were lucky we were there this time. Second request: talk to Tony.”

“Was planning on talking to him anyway,” Bucky muttered. He looked up at Steve and snorted. “What, you aren't going to yell at me, call me an idiot? You did that plenty when we were with the Commandos.”

“And it didn't do a damn bit of good, either,” Steve said dryly. “I won't pretend to know what the hell you were thinking, getting yourself captured like that, but Tony said it wasn't the first time and implied you'd been doing it a lot lately. For someone who fought so goddamn hard to get himself back, you sure are ready to throw it away and give HYDRA their Winter Soldier back.”

Steve's words cut deep. “I got tired of doing nothing,” Bucky spat. “Going after HYDRA? Taking down those sick fucks? That was the best revenge I could think of, and it felt good. I'm a killer, Steve. I'm an assassin. A weapon. I'm just calling my own missions now. And you know what?” He dropped his voice lower. “It felt good. I enjoyed killing them. Every last one of them.”

Steve, for his part, didn't react outwardly. “Well. Good for you, then. I'm glad you found something that was actually worth your time.” 

“Fuck you,” Bucky snapped. Steve raised an eyebrow. “I couldn't stay here. I almost fucking killed you!”

“You really didn't,” Steve said, his facade slipping into concern. “Buck… that… I mean, yeah, you got a few good swings in, but once I backed off, you reverted to defense-only. You weren't trying to hurt me. You were trying to protect yourself. And I should have known better than to touch you. That was on me.” 

Bucky snorted. He didn't believe any of that. He might not be able to remember the fight itself, but he remembered the way he felt during it. He hadn't been only defending himself - which, yes, he  _ had _ been doing that - but he'd also been aiming to kill. 

“JARVIS?” Steve asked. “Will you play the video from that day?” JARVIS didn't give a verbal response, simply made a video appear on a blacked-out portion of Steve's window.

Bucky watched himself spin and punch Steve in the chest, sending him back a step. He followed it up with two quick jabs - one to his jaw, one to his ribs, and then a swift kick to Steve's shin. Steve backed away, hands raised, and he saw himself drop into a defensive crouch. He watched Steve call his name, and then he dropped to the floor. The video ended abruptly, but Bucky couldn't look away from that spot. 

“See?” Steve asked gently. “You really didn't do much. I can't imagine what was going through your head during all that, but… you didn't hurt me, not really. You just wanted me to get away from you.”

Tony must have seen this video before, right? So why hadn't he tried to say anything back at the cabin? Bucky knew he wouldn't have believed him, but… Tony could have had JARVIS pull the footage, and Bucky would have seen for himself. It wasn't the true problem, though, and maybe that's why Tony hadn't bothered. Tony was always thinking six moves ahead of everyone else.

For the second time today, Bucky wondered if things really were just this easy. 

He looked at Steve. “I have to talk to Tony.”

“Don't mention the drinking,” Steve warned. “He'll get defensive, and then you won't be able to say anything at all or have any sort of conversation with him.” Bucky nodded once. 

He left, immediately, and JARVIS didn't even ask where he wanted to go when he stepped into the elevator. He tapped his fingers along his thighs, wondering what Tony would say when he got to him - what he would say in return. He had no idea what to say, how to begin. 

The elevator doors opened, and he found himself in Tony's workshop. Tony spun his chair around to face him, and his expression dropped from a half-smile into something neutral and muted. “How's existing?”

So they were going back to that, were they? “Boring,” Bucky said truthfully. “Had to find a way to make it more interesting.”

“I'm sure HYDRA really appreciated it,” Tony said. He half-turned back to his workstation. “I just wanted to let you know that you have more money if you need it. It's yours, not mine. You should have access to it. Steve wants you to take a phone when you go, too, but I told him not to bother. Told him you wouldn't accept it, and even if you did, you'd ditch it, smash it, or just leave it off and collecting dust.”

Tony wasn't wrong, but it still hurt. The cold, blunt tone felt like tiny needles jabbing deep into his chest. He wanted to fix this, but he didn't know how. He knew he couldn't fix  _ Tony _ \- and he shouldn't have to. But all the things that had gone wrong between them? He want to fix those. 

He wanted to demand to know why Tony hadn't told him about the video of him pushing Steve away. That would only make the situation worse, though. He knew that. 

“I was wrong,” he said instead. It wasn't hard to admit. He knew he'd fucked up. Now he just wanted the chance to make things right - if he could. 

Tony raised an eyebrow in his direction, though he wasn't entirely paying attention to him. “Oh?” He didn't sound like he cared, not particularly. That stung. A lot. 

“I thought -” Bucky paused and took a deep breath. He didn't know how to say any of this. “Back before I left. That day I attacked Steve. I thought it was a lot worse than it was. And - yeah, I still meant what I said. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd hurt you like that, but… Steve and JARVIS showed me the video. It wasn't like I remembered. I was wrong for thinking I could run away from that. I can't protect anyone by leaving the way I did…” He looked at the floor. “And I shouldn't have fucked with HYDRA the way I was, either.”

“We were handling HYDRA,” Tony said, no inflection in his voice. “That's why we were there when they had you. We weren't getting through them quite as fast as you were, but we were getting there. And we aren't going to stop.” Tony put down whatever he was fiddling with and turned to look at Bucky. “I just want to know if the next HYDRA base we run into is going to have you there, but on their side again, because they've managed to wipe your memories and get inside your head.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I - I won't let them catch me again.”

“Well,” Tony said, and turned away from Bucky, “then I guess we're done here. Have fun in Kiev. Or wherever you're going to run off to next. I'll make sure Steve and Natasha don't try to hunt you down.”

“Tony,” Bucky said, his voice small and a little broken. 

“Bye.”

Bucky sighed and shook his head. He wasn't going to get anywhere else with Tony. Not like this. So he left the workshop. 


	9. less pinocchio more casper

He did leave to go back to Kiev, but only to get his journals. He hadn't felt comfortable leaving those behind. It took a few days to get there and back, but in the grander scheme of things, a few days on planes and in airports was nothing at all. 

He became a ghost in the tower after that. He avoided the Avengers, to the point where most of them didn't know he was back at all. Bruce knew, mostly because Bucky spoke to him about his serum and the other shit HYDRA had been injecting him with, and they worked to find a suitable replacement. Natalia also knew, mostly because he couldn't hide from her forever. She knew all his tricks. But they didn't speak. She was irritated with him, too, it seemed. Bucky knew he deserved it. 

He followed them on their missions, when they weren't too far away. He posted up a few buildings away and kept watch on them all through a sniper scope. He was certain Tony knew he was there, but they didn't talk about it. Steve might have figured it out when the alien-thing's head he was fighting suddenly exploded in a burst of purple blood, but Steve had simply turned to go after the next one coming for him, and he didn't speak to Bucky either. No one came to his room to see if he was there, no one asked JARVIS to relay a message, no one tried the old number he'd had before he'd left. He'd found the phone in his room and charged it and never went anywhere without it. 

It was fine, mostly. Bucky still wasn't happy, wasn't even really content as he had been in Kiev, but he was where he knew he needed to be. Once, he let himself into Tony's penthouse and the workshop and emptied every bottle he could find, leaving them in a nice, neat little row for Tony to find when he returned. JARVIS hadn't said a word the entire time.

He ordered food for various members of the team when he thought they needed it and watched their looks of confusion from afar as they opened their door to find the hot meal waiting for them. He bought them small gifts and left them where he knew they would find them. Sometimes he would sneak into their rooms and move things around just to mess with them. It was endlessly amusing to do that to Clint, who always blamed Natalia. 

He missed them. He missed movie nights and conversations and dinners and sparring. He wasn't sure he even had permission to be in the tower again, technically. He'd just… appeared there, and no one had managed to spot him to tell him he had to leave. He knew JARVIS saw he was there, of course, and that meant Tony probably knew, too, but no one spoke to him - not even JARVIS. 

He thought he'd known what loneliness felt like. His time in Romania and Kiev? That was easy. Living here in the tower, so close and yet so far from everyone else? He'd never felt more isolated. Even Bruce didn't do conversation with him. They only spoke about what they absolutely had to speak about and nothing more. 

Bucky kept it up for two months. He got less careful, though, leaving a split second too late to allow them to catch just a barest glimpse of him. Still, no one spoke to him. He was certain it was some sort of punishment, and he was certain he deserved it. 

The nightmares were still awful, though some were much worse than others. This one had been of his time in the sensory deprivation room - again - but it felt worse this time, for some reason. He didn't know why. He just knew he couldn't handle being alone anymore. Not after that. The problem was that it was two in the morning and normal people were asleep at that time. 

“JARVIS?” Bucky whispered, desperate for an answer. None came. Bucky felt close to breaking. He was bundled in a hoodie and sweats already, but he dragged a blanket around his shoulders and went to the elevator. “Will you just take me to someone who's awake, please?” Bucky begged, leaning heavily against the wall. 

The elevator doors closed without him touching any of the buttons, and it began to ascend. He could have wept. He whispered his thanks when the elevator car stopped and let him out, and he took a few stumbling steps before figuring out how his feet were supposed to work again.

The workshop was mostly dark, and it was quiet. It seemed empty of people, too. He didn't know why JARVIS had brought him here. He sank into the old, worn couch and curled himself into as small a space as he could manage. Maybe JARVIS wanted him here so he could get rid of him or something. He didn't know. He'd deserve that, if it was the case. 

“I'm sorry, JARVIS,” Bucky said quietly. “I - I know you don't want to talk to me, and I don't blame you. I don't. But, fuck. If you're going to do something to me, will you just do it already? I'm so tired.” 

“I do not wish to harm you, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said quietly.

“He can't.” Bucky tensed a little at the sound of Tony's sleep-rough voice, but he didn't turn to look. “JARVIS can't hurt people. It's not in his programming.” Tony appeared in front of Bucky for a moment, and then he flopped onto the couch beside him. “J said you needed something.” 

“I don't want to be a ghost anymore,” Bucky said quietly. “I - I didn't leave. Not this time. And I don't want to leave again. I want to stay.”

Tony didn't say anything for a long moment. Bucky huddled in on himself even more, wondering what Tony would say - if he would be rejected again. He didn't know what he would do if Tony asked him to leave. Go back to Kiev? He could, but he didn't want to. He wanted to  _ stay _ . He wanted to be with Tony, with Steve, with Natalia, with Clint and Thor and Bruce. 

He'd ruined it for himself though, hadn't he?

“No one said you had to be a ghost,” Tony said. “We thought you didn't want us to talk to you, so we left you alone. How were we supposed to know any different when you refused to speak to us or let us find you?”

Bucky just nodded. Tony was right. He'd done exactly that. He'd thought the others hadn't wanted anything to do with him, of course, but that shouldn't have mattered. He could have made himself clear, and someone - any of them - would have reached out. But he hadn't, and he only had himself to blame. 

“I didn't know if I was really allowed to stay,” he said with a small shrug. 

Tony snorted. “If you weren't, you'd know it.” He sighed a little and shifted beside Bucky. “So, what's wrong, then?”

“Nightmares,” Bucky said simply. He ached for the time when Tony would have curled up with him in the big king-size monstrosity that was Tony's bed and just hold him, or when they'd take over the living room tv to watch Disney movies, or when Tony would take him out to a diner and pump him full of sugar and carbs. He'd either talk about them when he felt he could, or Tony would distract him. It worked, and Bucky missed that. Dealing with the nightmares on his own wasn't nearly so easy. 

Tony made a soft sound, then stood and stretched. Bucky held in his sigh and tightened the blanket around his shoulders. He'd go back to his room and figure out some other way to distract himself, he supposed. It had been worth a shot, but now he knew - it wasn't ever going to work out between them.

He stood and, without saying anything to Tony, without really listening to what he was saying because the sound of white noise in his ears was too loud, he made his way to the elevator. He pressed the button for his own floor and stared at the tiles between his feet so he wouldn't stare at Tony. He did too much of that from afar as it was. 

He retreated to his room once the elevator doors opened. He didn't bother to lock it because no one ever came to his room anyway. He went to his bed and sat with his back to the wall. He grabbed one of his newer journals and began to scribble the details of the nightmare. It wasn't until he was halfway through with it that he realized he'd lapsed out of English and into Cyrillic. He ripped the pages out and tore them into pieces, tossing them off the edge of the bed and all over the floor.

Maybe he wasn't better off staying here, after all.

* * *

 

“Why'd you stand up Tony?” Bruce asked once he'd finished with the rest of their discussion. Bucky raised his eyebrow. He'd fallen silent a long time ago, after giving Bruce the bare minimum of answers to his questions. Whatever cocktail Bruce had come up with was working, and that was enough. Bucky didn't feel like clawing off his own skin most days. He felt  _ right  _ again. 

Bruce took off his glasses and used his shirt tail to clean the lenses. “He invited you to breakfast the other night?” he prompted. “Tony said he thought you were just going to put on some clothes, but he waited for nearly an hour and you never showed.”

Bucky looked at the floor. “I didn't know he'd asked,” he admitted. 

“You might want to tell Tony,” Bruce said, gentle even though Bucky knew he didn't deserve it. “He was upset about it, though he won't admit it.” Bucky just nodded. “Well, if there's anything else?” Bucky shook his head and left quickly, needing to be away from Bruce. It was the first time Bruce had really spoken to him since that day he'd woken up in medical. Even though Bucky craved conversation, now that he was faced with it, he just wanted to run. 

Bucky used his small kitchen to cook lunch. He made a plate for Tony, too, and packed it away in Tupperware. He sat it in the elevator and quietly asked JARVIS to make sure Tony got it before backing away. He watched the doors close, the little note taped to the lid fluttering slightly. 

Not five minutes later, there was a knock on Bucky's door. He frowned. No one ever knocked on his door. No one came to see him. No one so much as spoke to him. He'd actually  _ tried  _ to talk to Clint last week, but he must have been irritated with him, too, because Clint ignored him. Hadn't even looked in his direction. He walked to the door cautiously. He wasn't armed - hadn't felt the need to be, not here in the tower. 

When he opened it, Tony was standing there, the Tupperware in his hands. He held up the note. “You didn't hear me ask you to get breakfast? You have enhanced hearing, and you didn't hear me?” Tony obviously didn't believe him. 

“I didn't,” Bucky said, ashamed. “Had - it was like white noise. I knew you were saying something, but not what. I assumed you were telling me to go watch a movie or something.” 

“You know what they say about assuming things,” Tony said dryly. In the face of Bucky's blank look, Tony sighed. “It makes an ass out of you and me. Like the letter u? Know how the word is spelled? Ass, u, me?” 

“Oh,” Bucky mumbled. He looked down at the floor. “Well. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make it right, but - I tried. With the food.” 

“Speaking of,” Tony said, lifting the container. “You gonna let me in? I'd like to eat lunch with you.” 

Bucky immediately stepped back and to the side so Tony could enter his suite. He followed Tony to the small dining table, and they ate what was probably the most awkward lunch of Bucky's very long life. They didn't really talk about anything, not really. Tony asked how things with Bruce were going, Bucky asked how things in the workshop were going, they talked about what Bucky had seen and heard around the tower lately, and Tony shared the same things from his perspective. It was… honestly, it was dull. Bucky had thought it would be worse, though, and he was just glad to be talking to another person again. 

When Tony finally finished eating, he pushed his food away and sighed. “Okay, so this has been really awkward.” Bucky hid a smile against his shoulder. At least he wasn't the only one who'd thought so. “Why don't you come up for one of Steve's newly-reinforced team dinner nights? He'd like to have you there, and I know the others would, too. Natasha's been on my ass about it lately.” Tony made a sour face that had Bucky fighting to repress a chuckle. 

“Wasn't sure anyone would want me there,” Bucky said honestly, shrugging a bit with the words. “I tried talking to Clint the other day, but he ignored me. Figured he must have been angry with me.”

“What day was it?” Tony asked.

“Um, last Tuesday?” Bucky said, uncertain now.

Tony waved his hand through the air. “He'd busted his hearing aids to shit. Anything quieter than the Avenger's alarm wouldn't have gotten through to him. I fixed them a couple days later when we finally figured out what was going on.”

“Oh,” Bucky said quietly, a faint blossom of hope blooming in his chest. So Clint didn't hate him. That was good. And Natalia must have wanted to speak with him, too, if she'd taken to harassing Tony about it. “Are - are you sure  _ you  _ don't mind?”

“I just invited you, didn't I? Why would I mind?”

“Because I hurt you,” Bucky said quietly. “And I don't deserve to be forgiven for that.”

“What did I say about what you deserve?” Tony asked, a sharp edge to his voice. He was stiff in his chair, now, and Bucky regretted bringing up that day in the Ukrainian forest. “You deserve happiness and peace. You've got peace, now it's time to try for happiness, don't you think?” Bucky didn't answer. “And I've already forgiven you. I told you, I understood. And I do, still.”

Bucky was truly in awe of this man. Part of him wanted to hide away from how  _ good  _ Tony was, and the other part wanted to bask in it, hoping to soak in that goodness so that he, too, could become  _ good _ .

“You shouldn't,” Bucky said quietly.

“You don't get to decide whether or not I forgive you for something. Pretty sure we've had  _ that  _ conversation before, too.” And they had. Back when Bucky had actually remembered murdering Tony's parents, he'd been a mess. Tony had already known, had already forgiven him - he'd understood, yet again. Tony stood and came around the table to put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, making his intentions clear well before he actually touched him. “Come to dinner. Stop acting like Casper.” With that, he gave Bucky's shoulder a gentle squeeze and left. 

**Author's Note:**

> [come find me on tumblr](https://shyglittercreature.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> i tend to post sneak peeks several days before posting the entire fic on ao3
> 
> do not leave "constructive criticism" - i'm finished with this story and i will not edit it  
> if you hated it, fine, i don't fucking care - the back button on your browser exists for a reason  
> if you liked it enough to comment, it'll mean the entire world to me


End file.
